


30 Days OTP Challenge

by Commander_Owl



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: 30 Days OTP Challenge, Alcohol Addiction, Bomb Voyage, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2014-04-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 15:59:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 21,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1516511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Commander_Owl/pseuds/Commander_Owl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not so long ago I decided to make an attempt at 30 Days OTP challenge, and somehow I managed to complete it on schedule. The original version is still posted on my tumblr, but here I present you re-edited one. During writing my little ficlets became a legitimate story, but unfortunately the chronology of events is a bit different than the order of the challenge. I'm sorry for that, but it can't be helped now, I suppose.</p><p>To every Scottish English native speaker - feel free to hit me something hard and correct all of my mistakes. Thank you in advance.</p><p>Anyway, I'd like to thank my one and only sister, who is my best friend in the whole world. She's the main reason why I'm even writing fanfictions and I love her for that.</p><p>Tumblr version: http://commanderowl.tumblr.com/post/79200695571/30-days-otp-challenge-chronology</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day 2 - Cuddling Somewhere

Grown-up people don't fall in love, mostly because something like “love” doesn't exist. That's what he believed in with all of his soul, or rather what's left of it. After the years of hiding in shadows, stealing faces and identities, betraying people he barely knew, it was hard to call him a decent human being, and he knew that better than anyone. Maybe he was rotten inside, not worthy of sunlight and other things reserved for those, who still had their own names, but at last he was still _alive_. He was safe now, hiding deep within the administration of colossal company where it was impossible to find a stapler, not mentioning someone's files. As a young man he wanted something else, he wanted a small house, pretty wife, children and small garden, but unfortunately he was forced to make some other choices, and now all of those sentimental, silly plans were just a dream he was ashamed of. Because “love” and “happiness” are for naïve children. Adults, or at last reasonable ones, have “mutual understanding” and “comfort”, and should be glad of it.

Perhaps his beliefs were the reason why he was unprepared for what was going to happen that afternoon. Everything started with an explosion and that should be the very beginning of the story, but it would not provide as much context as it's required to explain his presence on the other side of fence, in the enemy base. So, the tale should begin with something far less exciting than wayward detonation – the stink. It wasn't like the unpleasant smell coming from the RED facility was his problem, but he could recognize in it characteristic note, which made him a little bit uneasy. It was no secret that Demoman from the opposite team was working on some new weapon, but Spy had ignored the whole affair as something insignificant, mostly because so far the man's never succeeded. All of his prototypes were dangerous only for their inventor himself, exploding before he could finish them. But this time agent was somehow disturbed. He knew the smell of the gunpowder too well to stay calm. Whatever that one-eyed _imbécile_ created, everything seemed to indicate, that this time he was going to finish his work and use it against his enemies. That's why BLU intelligencer decided to check up on him and eventually sabotage his efforts, even if that meant climbing on the dusty fences and disguising himself as the enemy intelligencer.

He had to admit that Scot's workshop was on his list of places ha hated to be in. It was a small, decaying shed covered with dust and the dark vestiges of past fires. The air inside was thick and heavy, sticking to the skin and lungs like a sludge. The floor was covered with the empty bottles, wires and some other mechanical parts he was unable to recognize, but he also knew it would be unwise to step on them. But all of this was just a prelude – the worst part of this overwhelming mess was the host. Cyclops was one of the most hideous creatures he's ever met, including Pyro. He was loud, coarse and permanently drunk, not mentioning his mutilated form of English language he used for communication. Even if he had any virtues, they drowned in the sea of cider and whiskey a long time ago. Trying not to vomit, Frenchman approached him and stopped just an inch behind his back.

“So, how it's going?”

“Bloody Hell!” Demoman jumped on his feet and grabbed the Pain Train to hit any potential enemy. When he realized, who was standing before him, he calmed down a bit, but the weapon staid at the ready. “Spook! Whit are ye duin here?”

“I was curious about your work.” He shrugged, taking an invisible speck off his suit. He hated that dark red, almost brown colour, but he had to stand it for some time. “So I decided to pay you a visit.”

“But... Ye hate this place.” Scot tilted his head, watching him with a slight distrust and uneasiness. “Even Scout daesna like comin' here.”

That was hardly a surprise. Only a lunatic could be fond of this dump or it's owner. To be honest, that workshop was like a reflection of grenadier's personality – messed up, dark, filled with useless trashes and... Almost abandoned. No one visit places like it on their own volition, and there was no one who would like to be Cyclops' friend. Not after that whole affair with BLU Soldier. So the shed and it's resident stayed here, surrounded with people, but still alone. And, what's the most interesting part, one-eyed mercenary did nothing to change that – he just gave up and let the others forget about him.

“Well... If there's a chance we'll get some advantage, I want to know about it,” he explained after a while, igniting his cigarette. “That's a part of my work, you know.”

“Awricht, ye daena hiv tae be so uptight.” Demo gestured towards the spare chair and sat down on his own stool. “It's juist an... Idea. I juist wantit tae fill Scottish Handshake wi something a bit mair dangerous than juist a rum. I knaw that gless is mair than eneuch, but I thocht...”

It was quite entertaining to watch Scot as he tried to explain, what he was hoping to achieve. He was moving his hands a lot and even too soon his words melted into a stream of unintelligible babbling, but it was his face what was telling the whole story. Suddenly, in that tired, cloudy eye appeared a little spark, which soon ignited the bright light of joy and enthusiasm. He liked to share his knowledge, to show his work to others, what was almost sad, having regard to his somehow voluntary seclusion.

“... Interesting.” Spy came to the worktable to see the future weapon with his own eyes.

“DAENA!”

Before he could react, strong arm grabbed him and threw on the floor. The impact squeezed the air out of his lungs, making him unable to express his discontent, but then grenadier covered him with his own body, crushing him even more. The golden weave of screaming fire spilled under the ceiling, angrily biting dry wood. After years of hiding from Pyros, agent was accustomed to flames ad burns, but still he clung to his saviour, trying to hide under his wide frame. At the moment it was hard to tell if the heat come from the creaking air or sweating skin above him, but intelligencer decided not to think about it, mostly because he had something better to be worried about. Suddenly breathing became significantly harder, and world around him started to spin and fade away. They had to get out of there, but somehow he was incapable of speaking up and the only thing he could do, was lay there and watch the raging fire. Thankfully, Cyclops had more strength left and leaded them both outside, coughing ad cursing silently.

They sat on the dust, leaning against each other and watching conflagration in silence. For a while Frenchman just let his companion to hold him tight and even rested his forehead on dark shoulder, trying to regain his breath, but then he realized how inappropriate it was. He shouldn't let others to be so close to him, literally and figuratively speaking. He shouldn't be so fond of being protected. He shouldn't be captivated by someone's kindness. Things like that were for naïve children or inexperienced adolescents, and he was neither. He was deeply broken grown-up, who abandoned such comforts a long of time ago, along with his name and identity.  
“I'm sorry about that,” he mumbled quietly, feeling like his worn soul was about to collapse.

“Daena be.” Demoman patted his arm. “Better gae back tae yer base. I think yer Medic wad like tae see thir scaums.”

Agent's shoulders tensed as he looked down onto his still dark red suit. His disguise shown none of his true colours, so how it was impossible that the Scot see through his pretences?

“Oor Spook daesna speak tae me, ye knaw? Niver.” Cyclops shrugged, his face indifferent and tired. “He hates me even muir than ye.”

“So... Why?” He felt guilt crawling up his spine and reaching his mind. “Why did you show me your work?”

Grenadier lowered his head and for a few minutes he was silent, like he was ashamed of his motives. Finally, he sighed heavily and looked at his enemy with weary, empty gaze.

“It wis nice to hiv a company,” he said with sad, incinerated voice of someone, who's too well accustomed to being broken. “Even, if it wis ye.”

 _Love is for children_ , he thought, watching that dark, covered with ashes and dust face. _Love is for normal people_ , he repeated once again, trying not to see the soul as damaged as his own. _And I am neither_ , he closed his eyes, trying to save himself from the emotions he shouldn't have. To save himself from aching for something what was beyond his reach, what he discarded a long of time ago, when he killed a man for the first time and become a nameless shadow.

“I better go,” he said finally, getting up on his feet.

“Daena come back here.” Demoman weaved him goodbye. “A'll be waitin', but... Daedna.”

“What?” Agent turned around, trying to keep his indifferent façade. “What are you talking about?”

“Naething.” Scot also decided to stand up and walk away. “Juist... Juist daena come here.”

“I have no reason to, _n'est-ce pas_?”

And that was the cruellest, the most odious lie he has ever spoken aloud, but it had to be that way. They couldn't meet again, not like this. They had to be enemies, vicious and merciless, not two damaged souls reaching for each other. They should forget about that day and move on, trying not to get captivated by some needless hope. Their life wasn't suited neither for love, nor the mutual understanding. It had to remain empty and combusted, just like their minds. That's why he entwined those abominable words, which were supposed to save them. But he also knew, that he couldn't make them believe they were true.


	2. Day 5 - Kissing

No matter how hard he tried, he was unable to forget. He couldn't stop thinking about that man, about his dead soul and broken heart. He wanted to reach for him, to drag him out of his misery and redeem his mind. He wasn't sure, why would he do that – for Demoman, to ease his pain, of for himself, to see if he can be saved too. They were alike, so what was possible for one, was within the reach of the other, but... What he wanted the most, was to see that smile again, to ignite that last spark under the ashes and see the fire of happiness dancing within Scot's iris. Oh, how much he needed to see it again. Probably that's why against all odds he decided to climb that damn fence again and find Cyclops' shed.

Grenadier was bend over saw-buck, trying not to cut off his own hand, which needed some concentration. His soaked shirt hanged on the makeshift scaffolding, so his wide shoulders now were covered not only with sweat but also wooden shavings. The only clothing he left, were heavy boots and a kilt, which looked somehow strange here, so far from his homeland. But at the moment intelligencer couldn't care less about his lack of proper work-wear or at last some helmet.

“So, you're rebuilding it.”

One-eyed mercenary rose his head, looking at him with some strange mixture of fear and surprise. It wasn't like he wanted to chase his guest away, but it was obvious, how much he was afraid of betraying his other feelings.

“A tauld ye nae tae gae back here.” Demolition expert put the saw back and wiped his suddenly even more wet hands with a hem of his kilt.

“And I heard you,” Spy replied, flicking the remnants of his cigarette.

Scot watched him in silence, as agent approached him slowly, trying not to show any emotions on his partially covered face. Usually, he was a man with the plan, he has never walked into a battlefield without some scheme or at last a draft of strategy. But today he knew nothing. What he was going to do was an act of faith, he just acted believing, that the outcome will not kill him. With every step he was closer and closer, watching carefully Cyclops' eye, trying to find there something what would make him not only walk but run towards the man. But he saw nothing, and when he finally stopped right in front of the other mercenary, he was almost sure that coming here was a mistake.

“You said, that you'll be waiting for me.”

“Aye.”

And then he saw it – little, almost forgotten spark appeared deep inside heavy gaze, trying to ignite once again extinguished fire of hope. As an assassin, traitor and fugitive he never had a chance to create anything, to give something to other people. All he's done was taking away informations, names and lives, he's never left anything more than destruction and pain. And now, for the first time in forever, he achieved something more he could imagine – he made someone happy just with his presence. And with that, he lost all of his pretences and smiled, reaching for that warm, covered with sawdust face.

“So I came to you,” he said, slightly tilting his head.

At first, he almost didn't feel the light touch of Demo's lips, but then the warm, heavy pressure melted into his own mouth, taking his breath away. He never thought about how would it feel to kiss the man, never seeing him as someone who would be worth his time. But when the moist breath touched his face, he knew, that there was no human capable of imagining such a pleasure. Just a brush of those lips made him uneasy and bothered, but before he managed to adjust to this overwhelming sensation, there were hand on his back, pulling him even closer. And that was that, he was lost forever, hidden inside those warm, solid arms. As a professional he had to forget about such things as passion or desire, but now he wasn't a Spy or even a BLU. He was safe now, and finally he could be a human again, with all of emotions and reactions he used to hide. He could grab those wide shoulders and imprint small bruises on sweaty, almost slippery skin, he was allowed to moan in delight, as warm fingers found the hem of his mask ad crawled under it, he had the right to lost himself in pure pleasure. So he did all of these and even more, sliding his tongue between warm, fleshy lips and leaning against the other man.

They both knew, that this is beginning of troubles. With this kiss they sealed a pledge, which could easily save or destroy them with one swing. What was going to happen, was forbidden in the eyes of their teamates and employers. That was the beginning of very dangerous game of hidden touches, prohibited words and concealed longing. The dices were rolled and all they could hope for was luck.


	3. Day 1 - Holding Hands

“Hold my hand.”

Panic wasn't something he was familiar with – usually he somehow managed to keep his fears at bay and do whatever was needed to achieve his more or less personal goals. As a creature of a shadow and smoke he was never afraid of anything, because he could simply hide himself from the every possible danger and choose the right moment to strike back. _He_ was the terror for his opponents, invisible enemy without a face, who could be anyone and anywhere. His battles were silent and subtle, and the only sign of his presence were bodies of his very surprised preys, who died without recognizing their executioner. But even if all of these rules applied to his way of work, he could not forget about the others. They couldn't disappear and run away to find some first-aid kits or spare ammo. Whatever happened, they were forced to face their adversaries, even if that meant very unpleasant and even painful death. Not so long ago he was OK with it – the only purpose of this whole complicated system of respawn was to bring them back after encounters like these, _n'est-ce pas?_ But now... Well, situation changed a bit.

“Don't you dare to die on me, you imbecile.” He knelt on the ground, ignoring the fact that reddish dust will ruin his dark blue suit. Gloves and cigarette case laid abandoned nearby, along with his pistol. “You can't just die from scratch like that. It's nothing! You can't...”

“A'll respawn, ye daena hiv tae wirry aboot me.” Demoman smiled weakly and tried his best not to show his pain coming with every shallow breath. “Gae. Ye hiv yer ain mission.”

“Just... Just wait for a Medic, I'll call him. He'll be here in a second.” Spy looked around, trying to catch a glimpse of the characteristic white coat and sighed, realizing that there's no chance to get any help – doctor's presence was required on the Control Point, where the battle violently mutated into some kind of mindless bloodbath.

“It's awricht.” Scot tried to sit up, but agent forced him to stay down. “Juist... Juist lea' me here. A'll be richt back.”

He knew it of course. On this battlefield no death was permanent, so worrying about each other was completely pointless, but still he was terrified for some reason he couldn't name. Maybe it was the pain in Cyclops' eye. Maybe his almost pitiful efforts to assure him, that there's no need to be upset about the growing rapidly red puddles. Or maybe the idea of losing the grenadier, even for a while. They could be separated so easily, their fragile relationship was just one mistake away from crushing and burying them under the consequences of their own choices. He was never so attached to anyone – such sentimental nonsense like “love” was a fault he couldn't afford – so now, when his soul was bounded with another one, he had no idea what to do with the fear consuming his mind. He wanted to do something, _anything_ to stop his beloved one's suffering, but on the other hand, he knew too well that he can only watch him die here or... End his struggle.

“Spy, gae.” Demolition expert frowned, trying to be serious. “Ye daena hiv tae dae that. Daena force yerself.”

“Don't speak.” Intelligencer tried to kill his sob before that little bastard leave his throat and betray his true feelings. He couldn't let his tears to bee seen – he had to be strong for his brave Scotsman, therefore any weakness had to stay concealed. “Just... Hold my hand.”

Cyclops chuckled quietly and squeezed his fingers, for once not saying a word. They both knew what was coming next, but none of them was brave enough to say it aloud. For a longer while they stayed there in silence, like there were no battle, no screams, no blood, no chaos. Just the two of them, motionless figures in the middle of the desert, connected by the subtle touch of shaking palms. Finally, Frenchman reached for his gun and pointed it against dark, bruised temple, trying not to show his own pain.

There were no words of goodbye, no apologies, no excuses. Just an agonizing scream of the shot and a rattle of a dropped pistol. Spy sat there alone for a while, watching disappearing body of RED Demoman and trying not to fall apart under the pressure of his internal whimper. He still felt the warmth and weight of Scot's hand, like he was still there, right beside him. But it was just a memory and as a professional he had to forget about it. In a seconds that death would be meaningless, as his lover will march from the respawn room, so there was no reason to mourn him. He should just stand up and walk away to kill some enemies, just like any sensible person would do. Just like _he_ used to do. But instead, agent just lowered his head and sat silently under the high, open sky of the desert.

“Hold my hand,” he whispered to himself. “And never let go.”


	4. Day 18 - Doing Something Together

Rebuilding his shed wasn't much of a challenge and the only thing that really unnerved him during the whole process, was burning sun and heat pouring from the sky. Of course his dark skin was somehow adapted to that kind of insolation, but still the heat was truly overwhelming, and all he could think of was a bottle of cold cider or at last a beer. With a resigned sigh he wiped his forehead and once again reached for a hammer. Or at last that was his intentions – sudden whistle made him jump and then perform the traditional please-heavy-object-don't-fall-on-my-foot dance.

“Oh dear.” Familiar voice with melodious European accent sounded almost innocently. _Almost_. “I didn't mean to scare you like that.”

“Bloody Spy!” He turned around and looked at the agent with anger, but his his heart softened a bit when he saw genuine smile on his lover's face. “Whit are ye daein here?”

The first thing he noticed was the unusual colour of intelligencer's suit. Since their first meeting outside the battleground, the Frenchman never bothered with disguising himself as the member of RED team – mostly because he knew, that there were no surveillance cameras around here – but this time instead of dark blue his “uniform” was red. The second interesting thing on this picture was a small icebox, infiltrator was carrying nonchalantly.

“Why daed ye guised yerself?”

“Well, it's hard to climb over the fence with a _luggage._ ” BLU took the paper mask off his face and sighed with relief. “I had to take longer route through the main building.”

“And ye dead it acause...?”

“I though you could use some break.” Intelligencer put the box on the workbench. “Since I am the reason your beloved shed was destroyed, I'd like to help you somehow.”

“Ye?” Scot rose one eyebrow, looking at Spy's impeccable suit and manicured hands. “A'd like tae see _that.”_

“There's no way I'm participating in the actual construction of course.” Masked mercenary rummaged through the cooler and finally grabbed the wet bottle of scrumpy. “But I have cold drinks and some free time.”

It wasn't right. After that whole affair with Jane he shouldn't receive any other chance to be happy. He had a friend, a very good friend and betrayed him for a mere sword – what kind of person does something like that? Even if it wasn't the worst of his crimes, he still needed to be punished. That's why Cyclops accepted the loneliness and ostracism not only as natural consequences of breaking the rules of his contract, but also as chastisement for being nothing more than a ordinary bastard. But then, when he was perfectly sure that nothing good can happen to him, the agent showed up. Of course his first visit wasn't a friendly one, but... It was nice to have another human being around. To talk to someone about his work. To feel like he was almost acceptable company.

“Is something wrong?” Intelligencer took another bottle for himself and looked at the taller man. “You seem... sad.”

“Nae, awthing's fine.” Grenadier shook his head and took a sip from his bottle.

Why suddenly in his life appeared someone who really cared, was beyond him, but for sure it shouldn't be like that. He did absolutely nothing to deserve that little miracle. Last time he checked, he was still despicable monster, so why suddenly was he rewarded with someone's genuine attention?

“Do you want me to go?” Frenchman looked at him with concern.

“Nae!” He almost choked on his drink. “A juist... A... A'm nae good at this.”

“At what?”

“At bein with fowk,” Demoman explained, trying not to look as ashamed as he felt.

Those words were too honest and he knew that. But they needed to be said, better now than later, when revealing the sad true would make more damage. For now they were almost complete strangers after all, so their split-up wouldn't be withering. They still could stop it, whatever it was. It would be for the best to back away before they'll have a chance to get too attached, before they won't be able to stand the loneliness again.

“I don't care.” Master of disguises leaned closer, draping his arms around Scot's neck.

Maybe the kiss wasn't that best answer to all of questions that should be asked, but for the time being it was more than sufficient, at last from Cyclops' point of view. For some reason he met that strange, recondite man with dangerous smile and almost impudent personality, who decided to waltz into his life and make it better, so for now grenadier decided to be just grateful for that and enjoy every second they spent together. Of course that was the most heedless decision he could make – life isn't some kind of lake you can jump in and hope for the water to get eventually warm. He won't be a better human being just because that masked devil was kissing him like there was no tomorrow. Nothing will change. But when the disaster will come to break him once again, he's going to greet it with good memories of the only miracle he's ever experienced.

“Better?” Spy stroked his cheek tenderly, trying to even his breath.

“Aye.”

“I guess it would be for the best to finish that shed.” Agent smiled enticingly. “So we'll have at last some privacy.”


	5. Day 6 - Wearing Each Other's Clothes

Spy was accustomed to the characteristic, somehow factitious smell of hotel rooms and he was able to find in that scent some kind of relief. They were safe here, anonymous and imperceptible, hidden from their team-mates and employers' eyes. Maybe it wasn't the best place to spend weekend in, but still it was a way better than Demoman's shed or some other even less comfortable pallet. Those dusted, dilapidated walls covered with cheap wallpaper, almost broken furniture and creaky floor weren't the most presentable space he had sex in, but to be honest, the décor didn't matter – for the whole time they had been watching nothing more than each other. Well, few times Scot had some time to admire ceiling decorated with thin laces of cobwebs, however he wasn't able to share his thoughts about the view.

Now the Cyclops was slowly dressing, humming something silently. In the dim room his silhouette was nothing more than a shadow framed with golden lines of sunrise. Soft shine spilled over dark skin, outlining muscles and deep, extensive scars. Grenadier wasn't classical work of art, there was no delicacy of baroque sculptures or harmonious, renaissance proportions to ennoble his raw, crude body, but in agent's eyes he was the very essence of beauty. His movements were filled with controlled power, deep vice rumbled deep in his throat and coarse face seemed to be shaped not by bones of his skull, but the rain and wind of Highlands.

Even here one-eyed mercenary had his uniform. Well, not in it's basic form – kilt was something not many people dared to wear during battles – but still it was obvious who he was working for. Sometimes intelligencer wondered, how Demo would look like in something more sophisticated than plain sweater and heavy boots. He supposed it could be a view to die for, but so far he'd had no luck in that department.

“Wear my shirt,” he asked, stretching under thin blanket. “And my jacket.”

“What?” Scot stopped and looked at him with surprise.

“I want to see you in something different than your... Usual attire.” Frenchman smiled lazily and tilted his head.

Cyclops swallowed audibly, his Adam's Apple bobbing what was the sign that masked mercenary eventually _will_ get what he wanted. Even if their relationship were still quite fresh, Spy quickly discovered how to have his way with stubborn and proud son of Ulapool. Usually quirked eyebrow and devious smile were more than enough to make poor grenadier a bit fidgety, but this time some less subtle methods were required. Agent crawled across the bed and reached for the hem of his lover's turtle-neck, sliding his cold fingers underneath. Demoman startled at the chilly touch, biting his lower lip to mute his low groan, trying not to watch intelligencer's graceful movements.

“ _S'il te plaît,_ ” the master of disguise whispered, lifting heavy wool. “Do this for _me._ ”

“A niver said A daena want tae.” Scot sighed heavily when that skilled tongue slid down his abdomen. “But... A'm gaun tae wrack yer claes.”

“What do you mean?” Frenchman looked him into the eye with curiosity.

“A'm... A bit wider than ye.” The explosion enthusiast gestured towards broad muscles around his waist. “They winna fit.”

“... That's the most pathetic excuse I've ever heard. And believe me, I've heard a lot of those.”

“Awricht, A'll do it. But nae for free.” Cyclops folded arms across his chest and huffed, trying get some of his dignity back.

“Oh? What do you want me to do?” Spy smiled and nibbed at exposed flesh.

“Ouch! Ye wee devil!” Grenadier gritted his teeth and lightly smacked his lover's head. “A want tae see ye in me kilt.”

“It's fair, I suppose.” Agent got on his knees and throw his arms around grenadier's bowed neck and kissed him dearly.

Dressing each other was the exact opposite of what they used to do when they were alone, but somehow he managed to finish his task without landing on the bad once again. As Demoman predicted, the shirt and jacked were a bit to tight for him, but that wasn't anything bad. Thin, white cloth was almost ripping on the perfectly sculpted muscles, leaving nothing to the imagination and the unbuttoned jacket showed how broad his shoulders were. Usually, the heavy vest Scot has been wearing during missions and his hunched posture hid his true shapes, but now, with his back straightened and covered with expensive, thin fabrics, he looked taller and lighter, making intelligencer salivate a bit. Of course he saw Cyclops naked before, but usually he had no chance to admire him in his full grace, so now he tried to make up for the lost time.

“I am speechless.” He walked around more and more abashed grenadier. “This is _perfect._ I have to provide you with more decent clothes, that's for sure.”

“It's nae like A canna affuird them.” Grenadier pouted like a child. “A juist hiv... _Haed_ na reason tae leuk guid.”

“It changed.” Frenchman stopped in front of him and cupped his face with dead serious gaze. “So your wardrobe must change too.”

“A guess A can try tae weir something different in the edge o a time. But thare's something ye hiv tae dae forehaund.” One-eyed mercenary looked pointedly at his kilt laying on the bed. “It's yer turn nou.”

“But of course.” Spy smiled innocently. “Dress me.”

Watching Demo as he fastened the buckles on his hips was quite fascinating – usually he saved that level of concentration for his explosives and weapon, making his lover somewhat jealous, but this time all of this attention was directed at agent alone. Clever fingers quickly got the job done, but Scot stayed on his knees for a while, once again checking if everything was on it's place.

“Enjoying yourself down there?” Infiltrator smiled enticingly.

“What a brawness,” Scot murmured in awe, nuzzling his face into rough fabric. “Ye shoud see yersel.”

“You like it that much?” He throw his head back as the initially gentle pressure got fiercer and more intent.

“Aye.”


	6. Day 10 - With Animal Ears

It was really hard not to be afraid of Medic from his team – his overexcited laughter was really disturbing, not to mention the fact that doctor's favourite pastime was dismembering mercenaries from the enemy unit (fun fact: their death wasn't _sine qua non_ of the procedure). But from time to time sawbones acted against his own teamates, turning their mundane life into far more thrilling misadventure. This time crazy physician topped himself and not only infuriated the whole squad, but also made his colleagues look utterly ridiculous.

That's why Demoman almost cursed, feeling two lithe palms on his shoulders. As much as he enjoyed Spy's company, he really disliked the idea of showing him the side effects of his physician's experiments. He felt stupid enough already, and his lover's teasing was the very last thing he needed right now. But, on the other hand, during past week they barely had time to even greet each other, so now he was almost melting into light touches of talented fingers dipping into his muscles.

“I thought you don't like to wear hats when it's so hot outside.” One hand wandered to his bicorne and ruffled long, bright red feathers. “Is that because I laughed off your scarf?”

“It's a _bandana_ ,” Scot mumbled quietly. ”And nae, it's nae acause of ye. A juist wantit tae... Hey, haunds off!”

He was a little too late – before he even had a chance to turn around and stop the inquisitive mercenary, intelligencer managed to lift Cyclops' pirate hat and see what's underneath. For the longer while Frenchman just remained silent, watching what was before his eyes and then slowly placed cocked hat on the shelf, his eyes fixated on the top of demolition expert's head.

“Why... Why do you have tiger ears?” Spy tilted his fedora a bit and scratched nape hidden under his mask.

“Becouse oors Medic is a fuckin' erse, that's why!” Grenadier finally burst, taking the opportunity to express his discontent to someone who really cared. “He daed something wi the medigun and now we all hiv ears of some kynd. Ye hiv na idea hou sensitive they are, it's drivin me crazy! But to be honest, A'm lucky to hiv thae, puir Scout gat kinnen ears...”

“Oh.” Agent rose one eyebrow. “That explains a lot.”

“What dae ye mean?”

Intelligencer sighed heavily, clenching his jaw, and finally reached to his own hat to remove it. Demoman almost fell off the stool when a pair of fluffy cat ears sprung from under the brim. Intelligencer rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically as every drama queen would do, and this time Scot couldn't hold back a chuckle.

“Hou... Hou daed ye gat thae?” One-eyed mercenary tried not to laugh, but his lover's expression was truly priceless.

“Well... I tricked yours Medic to heal me during the last round.” Frenchman straightened his suit and came closer to Cyclops' workbench.

“It sers ye richt.” Grenadier smiled and leaned closer, reaching out to his slim waist. “Karma's a whure.”

“Yes it is...” Spy smiled deviously.

And again the events unfolded too fast to give him a chance to save himself from agent's hands. Before he could react, those sweet but also cruel fingers curled at the soft spots behind his new ears and scratched the sensitive skin, making Demoman groan in pleasure. Without thinking Scot leaned against warm palms, trying to get more of that divine touch. Another guttural moan left his slacked lips, but at this point he had no system memory left, so he couldn't be even ashamed of how dirty those sounds were.

“Oh my... They _really_ are sensitive.” Intelligencer seemed to be really fascinated and amused by the effects of his ministrations. “And... Oh.” His eyes dropped to Cyclops' crotch. “I think I can get used to that.”

Grenadier tried to cast him a malevolent glance but failed terribly as another touch behind his ears sent bone-deep tremble down his already arched spine. Every light brush of gloved fingertips was almost too much, but somehow he managed to regain some control over his hands and reach for Frenchman's belt. Maybe it wasn't the most despicable form of retaliation, but at last he won't be only person in the room having a good time.


	7. Day 25 - Gazing into Each Other's Eyes

“Oh _Mon Dieu_... ” Spy throw his head back as his spine arched, burying him even deeper inside the warmth of Demoman's body. “Yes... YES!”

And that was it, the electric ecstasy wrenched his nerves, and then left him boneless and flaccid, like he had no size or capacity anymore. His mind was filled with some strange details like the scent of their sweat, horizontal stripes of shadow cast by Venetian blind or the way Scot's legs moved down his slippery shoulders to fall on the hard mattress. As soon as his body recovered from the final spasms of their lovemaking, agent collapsed onto equally devastated Cyclops, burying his face in the crook of dark, still moist neck.

“Oh me mother Tilly,” Grenadier sighed, cuddling him to his broad chest.

“My sentiments exactly.” Intelligencer smiled against warm skin and hummed approvingly.

He had no idea how long it took him to recover from the afterglow, but even then his movements were slow and shaky, like his body forgot how to function properly. Despite that, he tried to get up from the bed to grab some towels and clean them both, but he was stopped by his lover's paw tightening on his shoulders.

“Stay.” Demo whispered lazily and yawned.

“We have to...” Frenchman propped on his elbows to scorn him, but as soon as he looked into Scot's eye, he was no longer able to say or do anything.

Cyclops face was still sweated and flushed, adorned with drowsy smile, cheeks warm and soft, heavy lid half-closed. That divine countenance was something the songs and poems could be written about, and agent was dazed by it's gorgeous features. But as much as he adored the dimmed glow beaming from underneath marked with kisses skin, Spy couldn't get over the sight filling dark iris. All he ever wanted was to see there happiness and serenity, but now he discovered there something more, something he's never expected.

_Love._

And with that realisation he was gone forever. Until then he was perfectly happy with what they could get – stolen kisses, chaste touches and passionate weekends outside the base. But that one tender gaze changed everything. Suddenly, he wanted something more than that exciting but dangerous game, he craved... Stability. Lazy mornings and late breakfasts, lost socks and borrowed shaving razors, making bed together and counting days to the laundry day. He needed all of these and even more.

Not so long ago, he would never admit, that he wanted that kind of life. As a professional he couldn’t get attached to anyone, every kind of affection was dangerous and forbidden. But, on the other hand, it had been like that _before_ he met Demoman. Scot never demanded anything, never asked for what he couldn’t get and never wanted his lover to change. Someone could think he wasn’t committed enough, but the truth was much more depressing – Cyclops was afraid. He was too frightened to want anything for himself, like it was a sin to desire or need anything. And that had to change.

“Dautie?”

They _will_ get something better, or so help him, there’ll be a Hell to pay.


	8. Day 29 - Doing Something Sweet

He had no face, or rather he had no right to have one. What he _could_ have, was a liquid mask, changing its form according to his will and current needs, and for the longest time he accepted that state of affairs as natural. That exceptional condition was a reasonable price for anonymity and wiped files, and as a runaway he was more than eager to pay it. He got accustomed to the new _status quo_ rather quickly and had no problems with abandoning his true identity – he hadn’t been using it anyway. But after some time he found one drawback of this his previous decision. Even if it was against all of the rules he agreed not to break, he wanted his face to be revealed. He wanted to take off this damned mask and for once be the person he truly was, not the employee of some fishy corporation. But his greatest desire was to show his true self to his beloved one.

He knew how dangerous was such wish, but he was ready to take the risk – actually, they disobeyed their superiors so many times, that they situation couldn't deteriorate any further. There was no chance they would get away with what they’ve done, if their relationship got revealed, so such insubordination as taking off a part of uniform was simply insignificant.

And that's how he ended up in Demo's damned shed again. It wasn't like the place repelled him – it was much cleaner and visibly less dusty than the previous one – but for some reason the combination of already rickety shanty and litres (as an European he was really attached to the metric system) of explosives made him a little bit nervous. But it was the only place safe and secluded enough for them to meet, so he had to accept the perspective of sudden and painful death as an integral part of their relationship. But for now the danger was averted – Scot's hands were nowhere near the chemicals as they were embracing some particular agent who straddled his lap. Kisses slowly turned more fierce and moist, taking their breaths away. Pale strands of yellow light were wading through the gaps between boards of walls, drawing long lines on their clothes and skin. The air was blunt and still, giving them no relief from the heat of the boiling skies, but not only the weather was responsible for torridity burning within their bodies.

“I want to show you something,” Spy suddenly said, trying to wiggle out of his jacket.

“Aye?” Cyclops tilted his head, holding him safely in place.

That was the hardest part. Thinking about it was one thing, but now he was about to really do it, and his hands started to tremble a bit. It was almost pathetic how nervous he was – he, the epitome of self-control and pretences, composed professional and master assassin. He shouldn't get so emotional over something so simple, shouldn't be so terrified by his own feelings. But before his doubts got a chance to stop him, he tugged the hem of his mask from shirt's collar and peeled it from his neck. Grenadier watched him silently, his eye never leaving his lover's face. His dark, heavy gaze was filled with admiration and delight, like he was seeing something so beautiful that there were no words to describe it.

When the balaclava was finally fully removed, Demo slowly reached to Frenchman's cheeks and cupped them gently, trying to fight his own tears. Spy covered his warm fingers with his own, relishing in their soft touch. And now he knew, that this was worth taking any risk in the world. The look on his beloved Scotsman's face was something simply breathtaking and no punishment would make intelligencer regret making him so happy.

“Ye're sae brave.” Cyclops was still caressing agent's jaw, his voice on the edge of a sob. “Sae bonnie.”

Frenchman finally bowed his head, reaching for grenadier's lips and sealing them with long, soft kiss. During the war and many years of work for secret service he forgot how good it was to be loved and admired, how he missed being human. And now all of this was given to him with every loving gaze coming from that dark amber eye.


	9. Day 15 - In a Different Clothing Style

Usually it was quite easy to spot Spy – he was the only person who wore mask in public places like it wasn't a big deal. Even if he discarded his uniform and replaced it with something less obvious, he still refused to take off his balaclava, consequently ruining his camouflage. Of course he tried to hide it with some more of less decent hats, but still it was more than visible. Demoman never raised the subject – first of all, he felt guilty for wearing his signature kilt and sweater, and second, he somehow was aware of the fact, that the mask is something more than just a part of outfit. Everyone had the right to have their secrets and Scot respected that. That's why he felt honoured when agent decided to show him his face and stopped wearing his balaclava when they were alone. But when he saw his lover maskless in public place, he was truly stunned.

It was another Friday night when they finally had few days off to run away from their respective bases and spend some quality time together. This time their collection point was some old bar nearby train station – how intelligencer was finding those places was beyond him – and this time Cyclops decided to surprise his lover with some more decent attire. Maybe black leather jacket and dark blue jeans weren't too sophisticated, but sufficient for sure. Besides, that was the first time in many years he wore trousers, what was a great success itself. But, when he walked into the bard and looked around to find his favourite BLU, he had to admit that his metamorphosis was nothing compared to what Frenchman did. Mask was gone along with the Italian suit and tie, and their place took grey suede jacked with leather patches on elbows, dark trousers and turtleneck. The only thing that showed a little of Spy's true character, was horizontal scar running across his nose from one ear to another, but locals seemed to give no shit about it.

“That's... unexpectit.” Grenadier took his place on the stool on the agent's right. “Ye leuk guid.”

“Thank you.” Infiltrator smiled and looked at him with interest, and held his breath for a second. After a long pause filled with intense staring and tilting his head, he finally spoke again, “I am such a fool.”

“Whit?”

“It it's your idea of civil clothes, I should have forced you to wear those from the very beginning.” Agent smiled slyly.

“A awmaist gat the impression that ye daena like me kilt.” Demo pouted and tried his best not to blush.

It was hard for him to accept compliments – since he lost his eye, he was convinced that he's hideous monster, so praises of any kind were... Unnerving. Of course he knew, that infiltrator's words were as honest as it was possible for that devious rascal, but still it was hard to be appreciated for his looks.

“Of course I like it. It's just the first time I can see your legs.”

“Whit?” Scot rose one eyebrow. “Ye saw thaim mony times!”

“Yes, but mostly naked.” Frenchman smiled wider and scar on his cheeks stretched. “And spread.”

Thankfully Cyclops hadn't ordered anything yet, because he would choke on it for sure. That was one of the biggest drawbacks of dating Spy – usually agent was polite and smooth, but from time to time he just _had_ to say something like that to mock his unsuspecting lover. For some reason he found teasing grenadier amusing and, what was even worse, he was really inventive in the field of finding new ways of devastating Demo's composure.

“Ane day A'll strangle ye with me bare hands, A swear.” Scot frowned at really pleased with himself agent.

“Oh, please.” Intelligencer pulled out his cigarette case and shrugged nonchalantly. “You wouldn't lay your hand on me.”

“Well, A wis gaein tae.” This time it was Scot's turn to smile deviously. “But if ye're nae in the muid...”

“ _Touché_.”


	10. Day 4 - On a Date

It wasn't particularly safe for them to meet like that: in the public, where they could be seen and recognized easily, but nothing could stop them now, not after so many months of dancing on the edge of disaster. Yes, their relationship was against their contracts and even longing could be cruelly punished, but those secret meetings were their guilty pleasure they couldn't deny themselves. Those late dinners, long rides and night walks were the only occasions when they could pretend that their mutual attachment could be almost, _almost_ accepted.

That's why they were sitting at the sticky, small table in some stifling bistro in the middle of nowhere, trying not to notice the stains on the waitress' apron and the dirt under her nails. Their time together was too precious to waste it on such insignificant details, so they simply ignored everything except their glances and almost shy smiles. As the time passed, the conversation bloomed, isolating them from obnoxious music in the background and the smell of deep fried meat.

But Demoman couldn't tune out that little voice in the back of his head telling him, that he doesn't deserve anything like that. He was born in the darkness and the only thing he could hope for was nothing better than the disdain. Since the very beginning of his life destruction and death were his only company, saving him from such lies as love or affection. He wasn't good enough to be happy, to feel like he was needed and appreciated. Those sweet moments with that stunning men were some mistake of fate, which for sure will be corrected soon. Something so wonderful couldn't happen to someone like him, that was impossible. Murderers and lunatics shouldn't be happy, _he_ shouldn't be happy, not after what he had done.

“Something's wrong?” Agent tilted his head, trying to look into his eye.

“Naye, awthing's fine.” Cyclops smiled, trying not to look nervous, and failing miserably. “Why?”

“Your hands are shaking. And you're blushing.” Intelligencer reached for his palm and squeezed it gently. “If I wasn't that modest, I would take it as compliment.”

Somehow, that lifted Scot's spirits and let him forget about his anxiety for a moment. Whatever is waiting for them, it's not important enough to ruin this evening. The time for fears will come when he'll be all alone in his quarters, sliding back into the darkness he belonged to. For now, they were together and that was everything he should be thinking of. Besides... When infiltrator was looking at him like that, grenadier could almost believe that this time everything will be different, that for once he could hope for something else than broken heart and suffering. He was sure that he saw infatuation in Frenchman's eyes, and for the first time in his life he even didn't try to convince himself otherwise. Maybe it was foolish of him to subside into such dream, but now, when their fingers got entangled and smile appeared on his lover's face, he couldn't care less.

After some time explosion expert finally relaxed and another hour passed as they talked, exchanging less or more colourful tales about scores from the recent missions, some spectacular kills or the misadventures of their teamates.

“... And than he was heich in the air, screichin like a wee lass!” Grenadier laughed, trying not to choke on his drink.

“Well, you put a stick of dynamite into his hot-dog. What did you expect?” Corners of Spy's lips quirked for a second, trying to hide wide smile of genuine and rather cruel satisfaction. “But I have to admit, that traumatizing yours Scout is truly a noble goal, which I approve with all my heart.”

“Somebody coud think, that ye really daena like that ill-aff bairn.”

“Me? Who do you think I am?” Agent rose his eyebrow and reached for his cigarettes. “As a professional I am above such things as dislike.”

“So why do ye like to see him suffer?” Demoman perched on his elbows and tilted his head with interest.

“Because I _hate_ him.” He smiled viciously, showing his chipped tooth.

Both of them burst with laughter, bending over the table and almost crying. Suddenly, Intelligencer looked at him with that serious gaze which usually meant nothing good. His blue eyes were dark and heavy, like there was some storm coming upon them.

“This is the last time we meet like that,” he said quietly, and Cyclops could swear his heart stopped.

So he was right after all. Everything has to come to an end, and that was the time for their happiness to collapse and bury him under all of the memories of those beautiful dreams. He was fool to think that he can trick his bad luck and achieve something more than another crack in his already broken heart.

“I... I hadn't mentioned that earlier, because I wanted to get some written evidence first...” Frenchman cleared his throat and sighed. “Besides, I wasn't sure if you're going to like the idea.”

“What idea?” If that was Spy's way of breaking up with him, it was really strange.

“My transfer is almost complete and next week I'll be a part of a new team.” Agent smiled gently. “ _Your_ team, to be precise.”

That was... Unexpected. Scot has never suspected such outcome and now he was just stunned. So this wasn't the end? That hopeless dream wasn't an illusion? He was going to be together with someone he loved? No, it couldn't be true. It was impossible.

“Ye arena sairious.”

“Oh, believe me, I am _deadly_ serious.” Agent squeezed his hands so hard it was almost painful. “I need you and I am tired of hiding in your shed or my car. I want something more, and _you_ deserve something better than... that.”

And that finally overwhelmed him. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many questions he wanted to ask, but words failed him, leaving only silence. Cyclops struggled with his own breath, trying to push it past constricted throat, but the only thing that finally passed by his lips was broken, painful sob. In his whole life nobody has done for him something like that and it was just too much. All those years of loneliness and grief left him unprepared for such amount of dedication. He had no idea, what should he do with all of these emotions, how to show his gratitude, how to express his adoration.

“Please, don't cry my love.” Intelligencer sighed, trying to conceal his own unwitting tears. “There's not need for that. As I said, this is our last clandestine meeting. We should celebrate it.”

Grenadier nodded and tried to calm down, but it was easier said than done. It took him a longer while to regain his voice and speak without tremble on the every word.

“A luve ye,” he finally said, trying wipe wet trails from his unshaved cheeks. “A luve ye so much”

And that was the end of their pretences – Spy leaned closer, sealing his shaking lips with warm, tender kiss. The light, shy touch was heavier than all of their memories, more significant than any promise they could make, more valuable than any declaration. Words seemed faded, compared to that simple, pure gesture. It was larger than life itself, making them both almost devastated with need. Nothing could make them stop now, neither their employers, nor those last pieces of fear.

“I think...” Agent whispered between kisses, “I think we should go, before natives will decide to throw us out.”

“Aye,” he agreed, licking his lips. “I saw a motel on the way here.”

“... I like that idea.”


	11. Day 22 - In Battle, Side by Side

Demoman was really excited. For the first time they were going to fight not against each other but _together._ They were in the same team now, so they didn't have to pretend enemies just to fool both their team-mates and employers. Now he could watch his back, clear a path for him, draw enemy's attention to let him do his job. But, on the other hand, he was also a little bit nervous. Until now, no one suspected anything about their new Spy origin, but today it could change – it was their first mission together and they might recognize in infiltrator's movements something alarmingly familiar.

“Ready?” Agent appeared from nowhere, smiling like the bastard son of the Devil himself.

“Aye.” Scot nodded and once again checked his detonator. “And ye?”

“I was born ready.”

“Arena ye... Nervish?” Cyclops looked at him, trying to read his face, but once again failed terribly. As usual, his lover's expression was a mask witch showed only what intelligencer wanted others to see.

“Why should I?” Frenchman straightened his suit and took an invisible thread of his sleeve. “It seems that the opposite team lost their Spy and replaced him with some amateur in cheap suit. Everything is going to be all right.”

“It's nae the BLU team A wirry aboot.” Grenadier scratched his nape. “A mean... Dae ye think thay can suspect onything?”

“... They seem to be really nice guys, but they're not that observant.” Agent shrugged and pulled out his cigarette case. “We better go.”

 _MISSION_ _STARTS_ _IN_ _10_ _SECONDS!_

For some reason mission was different this time. He was doing his job as usual, launching grenades and planting sticky bombs, but for some reason everything seemed to be... Easier. He hadn't even one chaser on his tail when he was running towards the Control Point, enemy Sniper was never able to reach him, and not even once he got backstabbed. After initial shock and amazement, explosion expert easily concluded, who was responsible for that state of things, and he just smiled widely. He never had his own guardian angel and it was quite strange to be so protected during whole battle, but he said nothing. Maybe it wasn't the most efficient strategy, but he had to admit that they were truly deadly duo, especially when it came to destroying all of BLU Engineer's toys.

Unfortunately, luck couldn't be always on their side – after some time hostile team realized that there's something wrong with Demoman in red uniform and decided to do something about it. Suddenly, he was everyone's target and he knew that this is over. Of course it made his team-mates life much easier, so he didn't complain, but now he understood how is it to be their Scout. All enemies wanted to kill him at instant, and the only thing he could do, was run as fast as it was possible. But he had to face the truth – without Splendid Screen he was one of the slowest mercenaries, what wasn't helping. But, even if he was in trouble, intelligencer never abandoned him. He was still at his side, protecting him and showing him the right way back the spawn point. Finally they managed to get through shanties scattered around the point and get to their base, when they finally could grab some ammo and heal their wounds.

“That was fun.” Frenchman flopped onto the bench and smiled, still trying to catch his breath.

“... Ye hiv real streenge defineetion of 'fun'” Demo chuckled, passed him first-aid kit and sat beside him, stretching his aching legs.

“Everything we do together is fun.” Spy smiled and leaned closer, closing the space between them. “Don't you think?”

Scot hand no answer for that, so he just sighed and tilted his head, giving him his silent permission. Maybe the battle wasn't won yet and they should be going instead of kissing in the middle of the mission, but they couldn't be helped – for them moments like that were their small victories and they intended to celebrate them every time they got a chance.


	12. Day 9 - Hanging out with Friends

He had no colleagues and, to be honest, he was quite used to that – as a person who betrayed the only friend he ever had, he didn't deserve the second chance. Loneliness was something he was accustomed to, and he never hoped for any change. But, as usual his expectations were one thing, and Spy's plans – another. That's why one evening his lover dragged him out of his safe shed and forced him to join the rest of the team during their traditional Friday Poker Night.

“A shoudna be here.” He whispered, when they both arrived at the door. “A'm... A'm arena ane of thaim.”

“Nonsense.” Agent shrugged and reached to the handle. “You're the part of the team. And now, I am one of you too.”

“Aye, but... Thay... Thay daena like me.” He sighed. He knew that there was no escape, but despite that, he at last _tried_ to reason with this stubborn devil.

“Because they don't know you. And it's hard to blame them, since it was _you_ who was running away and hiding in that shed like it was some kind of castle.” Intelligencer smiled and patted his shoulder. “At last try to have some fun.”

“What daed A do tae make ye this mad at me? Why do ye punish me thatwey?” Scot looked at him imploringly. “It's acause A plashed turpentine on yer suit, isn't it?”

“Oh, just get inside and stop whining.” Frenchman pushed him into the common-room and closed the door behind them.

To be honest, it wasn't the most frightening experience he's ever had. Easily he could remember some other times, when he was on the verge of panic and it had nothing to do with his social life. Usually those situations were caused by presence of some infuriated creatures with talons, paws and lack of any social skills what-so-ever. That said, he was still scared as hell. He had no idea what to say or what should he do. Thankfully, Spy seemed to be far more confident and greeted all mercenaries like it wasn't his first week in this team.

“I hope we can join you?” His smile could force even Saxton Hale to drop on his knees.

“Of course, ya can.” Engineer smiled and gestured towards the table where Scout and Soldier argued who should deal the cards. “But don't expect anythin' civilized. These guys can be like children sometimes.”

“ARE YOU SAYING THAT I CHEAT?!” Doe grabbed kid's shirt and picked him up. “HOW DARE YOU, YOU PATHETIC VIRGIN MAGGOT!”

“... Quite brutal children.” Agent seemed to enjoy the view of suffocating runner.

“Put him down.” Tex slapped the back of Jane's head. “Ya cheat and we know it, so leave the boy alone and sit down.”

“DON'T YOU DARE TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO, PRIVATE!”

“Sit. Down.” Engie's jaw clenched as he was reaching for his wrench. “And don't ya make me repeat myself.”

“So, zat's hov it is.” Medic sighed and handed them two bottles of beer. “If ve are lucky, respavn system von't be necessary. But usually ve aren't lucky.”

Demoman stared at this colourful pandemonium, trying not to laugh. Until now, he thought that his teamates were at last decent human beings and their madness manifested itself only during missions. Oh, ho wrong he was.

“Ye knaw whit?” He lowered his head to whisper in intelligencer's ear. “This is going to be hilarious.”

“I hope so.” Frenchman smiled viciously. “I wouldn't drag you here otherwise.”


	13. Day 13 - Eating Ice Cream

It was... Strange. For the first time they were walking side-by-side, their uniforms in place and they had absolutely no reason to hide themselves from the others. Of course two men whispering to each other like two schoolgirls were an unusual view, but locals knew that they were also deadly dangerous mercenaries, so made no comments about that. At last not loud ones. But still, Demoman felt somehow uneasy, like they were doing something wrong.

“It's... A daedna knaw.” Scot sighed and shook his head. “Daedna ye feel... different?”

“Well, it's our first _legal_ date.” Spy smiled and leaned against him. “We're in the same team now, so no one can accuse us on betrayal. We don't have to hide or feel ashamed of anything. It's rather refreshing, if you ask me.”

“Ye're richt.” Cyclops chuckled softly. “It's juist... Nae something A'm uised tae, that's for shuir.”

“I can imagine.” Agent turned towards small grocery store on the corner. “Just relax and everything will be fine.”

“Ye promised that ance, and believe me, it hurt like Hell. Daed ye even uise lube?”

“... It's good to know that you're feeling better already.” Intelligencer looked at him with distaste, but after short while his face softened and he smiled gently. “Wait here for me, I'll be back in a minute.”

Scot waited patiently, trying to look as casual as it was possible. He still felt people staring at him and not only because of his odd looks – dark-skinned, one-eyed colossus in battle gear could attract some unwanted attention, but this time it was his companion who made him noticeable. It was obvious how different they were and that could give others some wrong ideas about the nature of their relationship. Grenadier knew that they were judging them, but as usual he kept his face straight. He was really good at ignoring people, mostly because he had to do it almost all of the time. Well, sometimes he was forced to give them a lesson with his fists or even explosives, if they really got on his nerves, but usually he just pretended that he's blind and deaf.

Frenchman indeed returned rather quickly, carrying an ice cream cone in one of his hands. He seemed to be endlessly happy and that was a really good reason to be alarmed. Usually this cunning master of disguise and back-stabbing concealed his emotions and showed them only to bother his prey – in this case Black Scottish Cyclops.

“Ye seem tae be in a guid muid.” Demo smiled at him and took offered ice cream. “Erm... Whaur's yers?”

“I'm not as found of sweet as you are.” Spy shrugged. “Besides I don't want anything of that on my suit.”

“Aye. _Suit._ A awmaist forgat.” Scot chuckled and licked vanilla-flavoured dessert. “It wad be a shame if...”

The reason why he wasn't able to end that sentence, were soft lips that sealed his own, licking away sweet taste of ice cream. Of course it was hard to hide who they were to each other, but not a single proof was presented to the court. Now they were guilty as charged and there was no way for them to go away with this.

“But... They saw us!” Cyclops stared at his lover, trying to figure out what was going on.

“Good.” Agent straightened his suit. “Let me tell you something. For a long time I had to hide my face and identity, because I was too much of a coward to show who I am. But with you I am brave. I am not ashamed of _us_ and I am not ashamed of _you_ , so I will not hide our relationship. And if someone has a problem with that, it's _his_ problem not _mine,_ so I don't care.”

Grenadier wished that he was that valiant himself, but on the other hand, it was good moment to start. Intelligencer was right – hiding their feelings was pointless, because it only make their potential oppressors stronger and more confident. Of course, one day they'll be in a big trouble for that kind of attitude, blood will be spilled and bones broken, but _they_ were something worth fighting for.


	14. Day 11 - Wearing Kigurumis

“Rise and shine, _mon cher!_ ” Someone's foot brutally landed on his posterior and pushed him off the bed. “We're going to be late if you won't get up finally.”

Demoman sighed heavily, trying to figure out what was happening, and why it was happening to him. He never was a morning person (not only because his legendary hangovers) and waking him up like that was very high on his mental list of things that deserved to be punished with raging fire and excruciating pain. But, as much as he'd like to kill his torturer, he had to get up from the floor, what wasn't an easy task itself. Finally, he managed to stand on his feet an look around only to find really irritated Spy looking at him with disgust.

“Oh, come on. You can do better.” Agent rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. “We don't have all day.”

“What...” Scot yawned and looked at the clock on the wall. “Why the Hell ye're waukin me up afore 10 in the mornin?! It's Seturday!”

“Because, in case your forgot, today's the day we're doing community service.”

“WE?” Cyclops finally stared to understand the words he was hearing. “Correct me if A'm wrang, but 't wis ye and thae twa dafties wha gat sentenced. A haed naething tae dae wi't!”

“Yes, you had, because it was your fault!” Frenchman hissed and pointed at him, breathing heavily.

“And hou's that?!” Grenadier sat on the bed, trying not to get distracted by the enormous paper bag lying right beside him. “A daed naething!”

“ _You_ made me fall in love with you,” Spy explained, folding arms across his chest, “And _you_ was the reason I changed teams for, therefore my familiarity with those lunatics is purely _your_ fault!”

“Oh, 'at's rich!” Demo sighed with disbelief. “Nou A'm responsible for the gibbles ye dae wi thae tumshie heids. And whit ye expect me tae dae?”

“Wear this.” Agent gestured towards the bag. “For some reason we have not only to amuse kids during some stupid charity event at the Police Station, but we also have to look stupid.”

Scot carefully looked into the bundle and his eyes widened with surprise. He was almost sure that intelligencer was exaggerating as usual, but now he had to admit that this time the love of his life was right. Whatever he was looking at, looked like oversized bastard child of a pyjamas and tiger's skin, and for some reason was extremely soft and plushy.

“Whit... Whit the hell is this?!”

“I believe the right term is 'kigurumi'.” Frenchman sighed. “But that's all I know.”

“And why teeger?” Cyclops looked at the outfit, trying to imagine himself wearing it.

“You're going to be a tiger and believe me, you should be glad for it!” Infiltrator snapped with annoyance. “For some reason I have to be a frog. A FROG! That's the most humiliating thing that ever happened to me!”

Usually grenadier never forgave people waking him this early on his days off, but this time he decided to make an exception. It was sad, how irritated and hurt Spy was. Even if he was professional drama queen, it wouldn't be fair to force him to suffer such abasement alone. And as much as Demo would like to go back to sleep, he also wanted his beloved to be at last less annoyed, so with a sigh he unzipped the damned costume.

Well... He looked silly, but it wasn't _that_ bad. But, on the other hand, he rarely cared about his presence, so he easily stand looking like an utter moron. Poor agent had a hard time wearing something what in his opinion was hideous, and he was almost whining with disgust.

“Let's leuk rideeculous thegither.” Scot smiled at his lover, draping his arms around intelligencer's shoulders.

“ _Je t'aime._ ” Frenchman pressed his temple against Cyclops' collarbone. “You have no idea, how much I need your help to get through this madness.”

“That's whit A'm here for.” Grenadier patted his head and smiled to himself.


	15. Day 28 - Doing Something Ridiculous

“WHY DO WE EVEN DO THAT!?” Spy looked at his lover, trying not to fall out off the catering van.

“Hey, it wis ye wha wantit tae get oot from that foy.” Demoman shrugged and launched another grenade.

“Yes, I remember, but... _Mon Dieu!_ ” Agent ducked, trying to avoid being shot by really infuriated officer. “Why... Why do we help this maniac?!”

Said “maniac” was Medic himself, who was also driving mentioned van. At the moment doctor was trying to get through police road block without killing them all in the attempt, so it would be unwise to disturb him. But, to be honest, both of them had no idea what they were doing actually – the last thing that really made sense was when they were tired of their “kigurumi duty” and took a break for a cigarette at the parking lot. When they had got there, catering van appeared literally from nowhere and almost smeared them on the asphalt, and something like “I don't have time to explain, get in the car!” echoed above their heads. When they realized that it was their own Medic who just tried to kill them, both mercenaries decided to get into the van, but not because they needed a ride – they simply wanted to kill that crazy bastard.

“Why are we running from the police?!” Intelligencer looked over his shoulder at their driver.

“Because I stole my stolen catering van!” Doctor swerved and then cursed silently under his breath.

“... Ye daed whit?!” Scot froze for a moment.

“Vell... After I lost my medical license, I had to run avay from ze tovn, so I stole zis catering van.” Physician seemed to be completely indifferent to the concept of 'private property'. “And now zose nozy policemen not only found it, but also dared to take if from me!”

“So you stole it again. _Fantastique._ ” Frenchman looked like he was about to lost it. “And now every single cop in town I after us. Just... Perfect.”

“Well... Leuk on the bricht side.” Cyclops patted his shoulder. “At last there are no children around.”

Spy considered it for the moment, tilting his head like really confused bird, but finally he just rolled his eyes and smiled mirthlessly. “I can get behind that.”


	16. Day 14 - Genderswapped

Demoman never was an epitome of abstinence – he probably didn't even know the word – and Spy also liked to drink something other than coffee from time to time, so none of them was surprised when one evening they both get drunk. Thankfully, they were in Scot's bedroom, so they could lay on something more comfortable than dusty floor in their favourite shed.

“How do you call _des_ _femmes_?” Intelligencer was contemplating pattern of exfoliating paint on the ceiling.

“Lassies.”

“No, I mean...” Why concentrating suddenly was so hard? “If men are Demo _men_ , then women... Should be called... What was I talking about? Oh, I remember. They should have their own name, right?”

“A daedna follae ye.” Cyclops propped himself on his elbows and looked at him with concern.

“What other Demomen call your mother?”

“Mrs DeGroot.” Grenadier shook his head. “Whit's yer pynt?”

“Don't you call... _Lassies..._ Demowomen?” Frenchman rolled onto his stomach and crawled atop of his lover to nuzzle his belly. It was unfair that demolition expert seemed to be far less intoxicated, even if they both drank the same amount of booze.

“... Nae.”

“Why? You don't care about names?”

“They don't care.” Scot sighed and ruffled his hair. “All they want tae do is blawin shite up and uisually they daena gie a fook aboot the names fowk are giein thaim. We respect thaim and that's all thay want from us.”

“But... Proper name is a part of respect!” Spy rose his head an looked at him with surprise.

“Well... A wadn't gaur tae gie thaim ony names. They'd kill me. Me mother especially.” Cyclops seemed to be terrified by the idea of infuriated female family members. “But neist time A'll ask thaim if thay want me tae caw thaim different than 'Demoman', awricht?”

“You should. Imagine, how it would be to be a female?” Agent sighed and curled against his lover's side. “Which would be fine, by the way. You'd be wonderful woman.”

Maybe his beloved grenadier wouldn't be a typical pretty girl with round face and soft skin, but he... She'd be absolutely beautiful. With all of the power hidden under her dark, covered with scars skin, wise sight and full lips she'd be an epitome of grace and force, like a Valkyrie or an Amazon. She'd be bit curvy – with that amount of sweets it would be inevitable – but also muscled. Her smell would be a sensuous mixture of chemicals, cider and perfume, and her hair would fall on the broad shoulders like a curled waterfall. Oh yes, that'd be a woman to die for.

“What kind of _de femme_ I would be?”

“Ye? Bonnie, that's for sure.” Demoman smiled at him. “With hivy hair, lang craig, saft skin, sclender fingers and wee breasts.”

“Why small?” Intelligencer rose one eyebrow with interest.

“Acause A prefer wee. A like hou thay fit me haunds,” Scot explained patiently, “and... Ye wad hiv bonniest smile in the hail warld. It wad be like a promise and a threit.”

“Are you describing me as a woman, or your favourite type of a woman?”

“Isn't it the same?” Cyclops chuckled and stroked his nape.

“... Fair enough.”


	17. Day 17 - Spooning

Usually his nights were filled with darkness and peace, what was everything he ever expected from his night rest. But sometimes dreams came, haunting him with screams and faces he wanted to forget. He had blood on his hands and committed crimes that couldn't be forgiven, so it wasn't nothing strange that even his own mind decided to punish him with those terrifying visions of his sinful past. At times like that he woke up with silent scream dying in his throat, sweated forehead and cold hands clutched on the sheets.

But something changed.

“Ane of thae dreams?” Silent whisper reminded him that he wasn't alone anymore. “Puir bastard, come here, dautie.”

Strong arm scooped him closer to the wide chest behind his back, pressing him against Demoman's warm body. Spy still shivered and tried to even his breath and heartbeat, but just this single touch made him a bit calmer. For some reasons he always felt safe and comforted in Scot's embrace, like it was his stronghold where he could hide form everything, including himself.

_O ba ba mo leanabh_

_Ba mo leanabh, ba_

_O ba ba mo leanabh_

_Nì mo leanabhs' an ba ba_

Agent had no idea what those words could mean, but Cyclops' deep, calming voice was more than enough to let him close his eyes and slowly relax. Even if everything he saw in his nightmare was true, now it was nothing more but the past. It was just a dream and now he was a different man. As the years of his dangerous life passed one after one, gradually he lost his cruelty, hate and grief.

_Ged tha mi gun chaoraich agam_

_'S caoraich uil' aig càch_

_Ged tha mi gun chaoraich agam_

_Dèan a leanabh an ba ba_

Now he was... Loved. Maybe it was hopelessly romantic and insipid, but that feeling let him finally find his peace. He wasn't forgiven of course – it wasn't that easy – but finally he could live with his sins. He could stop hate himself for his mistakes and crimes, and finally move on.

_Eudail mhòir a shluaigh an dòmhain_

_Dhòirt iad d'fhuil an dé_

_'S chuir iad do cheann air stob daraich_

_Tacan beag bho do chré_

Grenadier nuzzled his hair, still singing. He never asked about nature of his dreams, never demanded any explanation – he just tried his best to calm his lover down and put him to sleep again. Intelligencer was more than grateful for that. He promised himself that one day he'll tell his brave Scotsman about his past and his deeds, but for now he just laid here, listening to the slow, almost sad lullaby.

_Dhìrich mi bheinn mhòr gun anal_

_Dhìrich agus thearn_

_Chuirinn falt mo chinn fo d' chasan_

_Agus craicionn mo dhà làimh_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can listen to the lullaby here:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P7dW1FtfS9Q   
> It’s titled “Ba Mo Leanabh”.
> 
> And you can find lyrics here:  
> http://www.celticlyricscorner.net/lamond/baba.htm


	18. Day 23 - Arguing

All couples had their ups and downs, and they were no exception. It was natural – they were two strong, independent characters, so quarrels or even acts of violence were inevitable, but this time it was worse than ever. He even couldn't remember how it started (it was something stupid probably) but then they were suddenly screaming at each other with no real reason, and were just too angry and infuriated to stop. They sad cruel, really nasty thing they didn't mean, but couldn't stop themselves. Finally Demoman yelled something in Gaelic and stormed out of the room, leaving Spy confused and alone. Agent of course had no intention of following him and tried to calm down, but somehow it was impossible. After one hour of futile struggling, he decided to hunt his lover down and give him some more.

Scot was in his shed again – even if they were in the same team now and they managed to socialize with the rest of the crew, he was still using his workplace as a hideout when he was in bad mood. Or when they had their silent days and he didn't want to sleep on the couch alone. Or when he wanted to get drunk. Intelligencer knew, what he was going to see – the smell of alcohol was too intense to remain unnoticed – but still get even more mad. Drinking never was, and never will be a proper way of dealing with problems, mostly because it was a problem itself. But no, Cyclops was either too stupid or too stubborn to understand that. To grenadier's credit, he rarely was as wasted as he seemed to be – he was almost constantly tipsy of course, but sloshed look was usually some kind of façade he used to deceive opponents and friends. And, what was even worse, it worked too well.

“You _crétin!_ ” Frenchman kicked in the door. “If you think I'll have some mercy because you're drunk, well mister, you are _terribly_ wrong!”

Demo was already quite drunk, which was to be expected, but he was also sober enough to be not only surprised, but also alarmed.

“Whi... Whit are ye duin here?!” He leaned against his workbench and frowned, hiding his only eye in the shadow.

“I'm going to talk to you!” Spy stumbled over empty bottles and hissed. “I have enough of _this_!”

“A hate tae brak the news for ye, but 'at's whit A am.” Scot looked at his visitor with disgust and reached for another bottle of scrumpy. “A drunkard.”

“Do you really think I am stupid enough to believe it?” Agent finally managed to get through the shed and grabbed Cyclops' shirt. “Do you think I am so blind, that I won't notice how you can be totally hammered at the start of the mission only to be almost perfectly sober when you manage to get some spectacular kill?! Who do you think I am?! An idiot?!”

“Well, ye'v juist answered that.” Grenadier bared his teeth and growled.

“Your insults are not enough to make me let you go.” He snarled in response. “Don't you understand we can't go on like that? That you can't hide here every time we argue?”

“So mebbe it's time tae say goodbye.”

“What...?” Intelligencer's fingers clasped even tighter on the thin cotton.

“A'm sain that mebbe we shoud end this.”

“You...” He knew that the boiling rage wasn't the bast answer, but this time he was about to explode. Usually he managed to keep his feelings under control, but those words were just too painful. “After all of this time... After everything I've done to be with you... Now you say we should split up?! I don't understand. Why?!”

“BECOUSE I ALWAYS SCREW UP!!!”

Demolition expert finally looked him in the eye, and Frenchman's heart almost broke. He expected everything: lies, hate and even fury, but not fear. Not the terror of someone, whose biggest secret was about to be revealed and nothing could be done to prevent it. Scot was so tired of pretences and covering his emotions with false smiles, that he finally gave up and almost collapsed.

“A... Ivery time A get close tae somebody A juist... I screw gibbles up.” Cyclops was almost whispering. “A betrayed me best freend for a swuird... And A killed me adoptive paurents tryin tae hunt down the Nessie.” His voice broke down under the pressure of coming sob. “A daedna want tae see ye get hurt acause of me.”

And that was the saddest thing Spy's ever heard. Maybe those words were like a dialogue from one of the cheap love stories their Scout liked so much, but they were also painfully honest. For the whole time he was aware, that his beloved one was truly a broken person, but until now had no idea how deeply reached his scars. And, what was probably the worst part, all he could do was to hold him close and cry with him. There were no words that could instantly ease such pain and cure so old wounds. Something like that required time, and for the first in his life he was absolutely sure, that patience is not a virtue at all.


	19. Day 24 - Making up Afterwards

They sat together in his shed, fingers tangled and faces sore from crying. Silence was almost painful and overwhelming, but neither of them was able to fill it with anything – every word seemed too plain to express their emotions. But at some point they should say or at last do something. Sitting there and pretending that the next day won't come was about as sensible as expecting Scout and Soldier to be civilised.

The night came, erasing light form the still and dry air, and replaced it with cold darkness, but they still had no idea what to do next. After some time Demoman sighed and looked at his lover, trying to figure out what he was pondering on. Unfortunately, Spy's thoughts were mysterious as usual, leaving him no clue. So, he decided that it's his turn to do something about the deadlock they were in.

It was hard to speak. For the longest time he had been hiding all of his secrets on the very bottom of his soul, covering them with smiles, laughs, explosions and the odour of alcohol. Revealing them to anyone was painful, and he felt like he was about to collapse under the weight of words he was trying to speak. There was so much despair and grief in his dark, twisted with guilt mind controlled by fear and weakness. But now, when agent was right beside him, something needed to be said – he should somehow explain to intelligencer all of the events that leaded him to be such despicable being. To be honest, he hated to tell about his life. He hated to show others how alone and vulnerable he was as a child, and how devastated he was as an adult. But mostly he hated how plaintive was his tale. His life was so miserable – abandonment, death of adoptive parents, orphanage, loss of an eye, years of hard work and rough training. Nothing good could come of it, and in fact, nothing did. Or at last that's what he thought.

Frenchman listened him in silence, nodding slowly from time to time, but that was his only reaction. As usual, he preferred to get as much facts as it was possible first, and then do something with the knowledge he gained.

“I... I don't know what to say, to be honest.” Spy sighed when the Scot's story came to it's end. “I can't fix you.”

“A daena ask for it. A juist...” Cyclops averted his eye and looked at the wall in front of him. “A'm sairy. A shoudna let ye get sae close tae me. A shoudna let it happen.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Aye. Nae. A mean...” Grenadier felt like he was about to crush into shreds. “Ye're the best thing that has ever cam o me, ye knaw? A've niver been as happy as A'm nou. Ye gave me awthing A coud ask for and iven mair. But risking yer life and heart is something A canna forgie mysel.”

“So, the only thing that's bothering you is my own good?”

“Aye.” He lowered his head, trying to hide his slowly approaching tears.

“Then I shall stay with you.” Agent squeezed gently his hand and smiled mirthlessly. “You need me.”

“But...”

“And I need you too,” intelligencer continued, leaning against him, “And believe me, I'm not that weak. I survived things that can't be compared to any monstrosity you've ever seen. You are not able to hurt me, because there's no pain in this world that really can get to me. The only thing that can make me suffer, is seeing you heartbroken.”

He knew that sadness – he's heard it in his lover's voice before, but usually his questions remained without answers. Something really bad happened to infiltrator, something what left his soul crippled and dark. Maybe that was the reason why they got together – both of them were too broken to stay among other people, but at the same time they couldn't just disappear.

“Can... Can ye tell me aboot yer bygane?” He asked, looking at the Spy. “Why... Why are ye like this?”

“I suppose I owe you that.”


	20. Day 27 - On One of Their Birthdays

Life goes in circles, years pass one after another, but some things happen again and again, coming back like a flood-tide. So here he was, sitting alone in his bedroom, once again realising it's his birthday. Usually he paid no attention to any anniversaries as they were sad reminder of things he didn't manage to accomplish. But this time everything was different – something changed. He wasn't alone and bitter like he used to be. Somehow the darkness in his soul dissolved, leaving him relieved and forgiven.

_No Demoman worth his sulfur ever had an eye in his head past thirty!_

Those words come back to him like a strike, making him curl his fingers in fists. There were a lot of things he could challenge – other mercenaries, rules, stereotypes, his own addiction. But he couldn't fight his destiny and it was the most excruciating pain he has ever experienced. Of course there was one simply way to avoid his family curse, but it required quitting his job he loved so much. He was nothing without fire and explosives. Everything he ever wanted was to blow things up, he sacrificed his childhood, eye, youth and most of his adult life in the name of becoming not only a good Demoman, but the best one. Giving it up was like throwing out his whole life.

Gentle knocking on the door cut the stream of his thoughts and brought him back to the reality. He was supposed to be somewhere else, but as usual birthday nostalgia won the battle for his attention, keeping it away from the main event of the evening.

“ _Mon cher?_ ” Spy looked inside the room and entered it slowly. “We're waiting for you. Something happened?”

“Naething. A juist...” He got up from the bed and tried his best to cover his worries with smile. “A'm sairy, A think A'm nae in the muid for a pairty”

“So something _did_ happen.” Agent approached him and looked into his eye. “Tell me, please.”

Once again he could run away and keep his secret to himself like he used to. But it would be a step back, and he didn't want this – they somehow managed to get so far, it would be a shame to waste it with hiding from his beloved one.

“It's... A'm nae gettin younger. And sometimes A'm wirried that A wastit me time on gibbles whilk warna worth it. A mean... A'mm good at me job. I spent aw o me life tryin tae be guid at it. But...” He looked away, trying to find the right words. “A'm nae shuir if me job is really that important. A misst a lot of gibbles, important gibbles,” he sighed and lowered his head. “A want me life back sae A can uise it different this time.”

“And what would you change?” Intelligencer tilted his head, and came closer.

“A wad find ye suiner,” he confessed. “And A'd concentrate anely on ye. A'd live with ye as me guidman faur awa from here.”

“There's still time.” Frenchman cupped his face. “We can do that.”

“Ye... Ye'd gie up this life...” Scot looked at him with shock. “For me?”

Spy smiled again and kissed him on a cheek, humming silently. Maybe he was a master of beautiful citations and eloquent seduction, but sometimes even he was at loss of words – mostly because opening his mouth would result with tears dripping down his face. That's why both of them remained silent and just leaned closer, searching for something more than a subtle touch of lips.


	21. Day 12 - Making Out

Even if it was hard for him to believe that they bought a house and now were two retired mercenaries living far away from any military base, Spy was still too matured to exclaim it every time he had an occasion. Of course there was some thrill of excitement as he was imagining their new life together, peaceful days and far less tranquil nights, cleaning, gardening and all other things they will be doing from now, but he remained calm. Mostly because he still was somehow afraid that it isn't true, that this is just a dream. But now they were standing in front of their Gable Front house and all of his fears started to slowly dissolve. Really slowly.

“A see that lads with plenishins are awready here.” Demoman looked at the truck standing at their driveway. “Come on, lat's see hou it's gaein.”

He had no idea that moving in can be so... Tedious. For a long time agent owned many things but he never cherished them – when it was his time to move from one place to another, one suitcase was more than enough to contain all of his belongings he really wanted to keep. Things were expendable, therefore he never kept objects that could be effortlessly replaced. But Scot was a different story. Even if his past was full of grief, guilt and misery, he still owned a lot of keepsakes and other stuff that he _needed_ to feel comfortable. Medieval weapons, books older than the country they were living in, tons of photographs and strange artefacts – that was only a small part of Cyclops' belongings. Perhaps that was the reason why unpacking took them a whole day.

“Please, tell me that it was the last box.” Intelligencer fell on the sofa and sighed.

“For nou.” Grenadier flopped beside him. “Tomorrow's neist deleevery.”

“I hate you. I hate you so much.”

“Nae, ye daena.” Demoman leaned closer and smiled, nuzzling his jaw. “Ye luve me.”

“I do not.” Frenchman arched his neck to give his lover better access. “In fact, I hate you.”

Scot's lips always reminded him of ripe fruit with soft skin, which is about to break under the pressure of juicy pulp. His kisses, even small, soft pecks were firm and almost heavy on Spy's skin. Years passed since their first intimate encounter, but still that simple endearment was able to make them both bothered and thrilled, like it was their last night together. Old habits die hard, they say, and it was true – after hiding their relationship, they still sometimes feared that they could be separated. But now they were safe. That was their home and their own life far away from contracts, missions, explosions and battles.

Cyclops' hands as always were warm and a bit rough, and their touch wandering upwards agent's chest left former master of disguise breathless. It was good to be embraced, adored, loved – better than he even thought it could be. But it wasn't just desire. Although he never said it aloud, he felt safe, when grenadier was covering him with his wide form. And for him, runaway, traitor and murderer it was more than he ever asked for.

But now, when those swift fingers were slipping under his shirt, his sins were forgiven. There were no mask to hide his identity, no uniform to erase his humanity and no rules to control his life. He was just a decent human being and nothing could change that. And it was just a beginning of their future together.

“ _Mon Dieu,_ ” he gasped when moist mouths closed on his collarbone and sucked gently.

And then, he suddenly believed. All scattered pieces clicked together and somehow everything was clear. When this comforting weight was laying atop of him, loving kisses were dropping on his throat, and hums of appreciation and adornment were vibrating in his bones, he just knew, that he was finally home.


	22. Day 8 - Shopping

In Spy's world, shopping was something for the others to do – he just ordered necessary things and they were delivered in a speed of light. No matter what it was (hats, weapons, wine, food) he just used the right catalogue and _voilà_! He had exactly what he wanted. That's why he felt like total stranger when Demoman dragged him to the local mall and forced him to participate in shopping. He had no idea what was going on in this mad, drowning in mayhem place and, what was probably the worst part, how he was supposed to find anything in this mess. But he was too proud to ask for help – as a true professional and master of disguise he was the embodiment of adaptation, so he there was no task that could be beyond him.

At last that's what he thought. He was brutally forced to change his mind when he realized, that somehow he got lost. Scot was nowhere in sight, and he was surrounded by countless families with their screaming children. Maybe he had personal space issues, maybe, but the idea of being touched, pushed and shoved around made him literally sick, and the only thing he wanted was to be as far away from that damned place as it was possible.

“So here ye are.” Cyclops appeared behind him.

“Thank God, you're back.” Agent sighed with relief. “Let's get out of here and go home, I can't stand this horrible place.”

“... We're here for five minutes.”

“That's eternity!” Intelligencer whined. “I have no idea how these people can exist here!”

“We arena daen here.” Grenadier squeezed his shoulder and smiled. “Juist stey close tae me and awthing will be awricht.”

“I make no promises, but I'll do my best.”

Following Demoman was easy – the man seemed to be in no hurry and carefully read all of the labels, choosing the healthiest products. That wasn't much of a surprise – at last for many years now he was doing grocery shopping for his mother, so he knew how to do that.

“I have no idea how you can stand this.” Frenchman shook his head in disbelief. “It's so... Tedious.”

“Aye.” Scot nodded. “But it needs to be daen.”

Yes, their fridge was completely empty, what was to be expected – they moved in yesterday and the only food they had was from the gas station they passed along the way, and that simply couldn't do.

“I wish I could be more helpful.” Infiltrator leaned against him, completely ignoring any indignant stares.

“Daedna wirry, dautie, ye'll be.” Cyclops smiled and put another box of cereals into their cart. “A hiv nae idea how tae keuk.”

“... I thought that you prepare meals for your mother when you visit her.” Spy rose his eyebrow.

“Aye, but it's _Scottish_ keetchen. A daedna think ye'd like it.”

“... Probably I wouldn't,” he agreed, “but I think I can manage feeding you.”

“Ye better.”


	23. Day 19 - In Formal Wear

It would be easier if it rained – days like this one shouldn't be sunny and calm. High, open sky and warm wind dancing gracefully among trees strongly contradicted incoming event, and it seemed almost impossible for anything bad to happen. Sadly, they both knew, that this day will not remain in their memory as a pleasant one.

Demoman already had his shirt, hose and flashes on, and now was lacing his brogues, trying to stop his fingers from trembling. Spy was sitting on the bed and watching him in silence, waiting for any signal that his input is needed. Finally, his help was required – it wasn't like the Scot couldn't dress by himself, but it was easier to wear kilt with some assistance. Besides, he knew that even if it was a really small gesture, it comforted his fiancé like nothing else, so he was more than eager to lend him a hand. He sat on the little stool and gently fastened short straps on Cyclops' hips, making sure the kilt's not too tight. Then he reached for the sporran as the grenadier turned back to give him better access.

“Where's your kilt pin, my dear?” Agent looked around, searching for the said object.

“Here.” Grenadier produced decorative clasp from his hand.

“Perfect.” Intelligencer pinned it through the apron and straightened the fabric. “Do you want me to help you with your vest and jacket?”

“Aye.” Demo sighed, looking at his shaking hands. “A canna...”

“Shhh, that's all right.” Frenchman looked at him and squeezed his sweaty, still rough fingers. “There's nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Thank ye.” Scot tried to smile, but failed miserably. “It's... It's hard.”

Infiltrator nodded and stood up and walked to the wardrobe. Once again he checked if Cyclops' black Argyle jacket is perfectly clean and found another little strand of something he couldn't identify. He hoped that none will notice anything during the main event – it would be devastating for his poor lover.

When they were finally ready, Spy went to the garage to get the car. Even if they both were quite good drivers, this time he had to sit behind the wheel – grenadier was already quite numb and it would be inappropriate to ask him for driving today. No one should be bothered with such things on theirs mother funeral.

Everything would be so much easier, if the weather was bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested in Scottish formal wear, you can see this video (I found it very informative):  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=50rEIHC6lB0  
> After reading few discussions of various forums, I decided to change Prince Charlie jacket into Argyle, as it was mentioned to be appropriate for such events.


	24. Day 20 - Dancing

“Forget it.” Demoman crossed his forearms and looked at him with something what probably was supposed to be a threat. “I willna dae this.”

“Oh, please. Don't be such a baby.” Spy rolled his eyes and walked to the gramophone (he never liked the sound of tapes) to chose the right vinyl. “You _will_ dance.”

“But... A canna! A mean...” Scot pinched the bridge of his nose, like his lover used to do. “A daedna knaw hou tae dance.”

“That's why I'm going to teach you how to.” Agent smiled and approached him. “Believe me, your humiliation is the last thing I desire.”

“A knaw but...” Cyclops hesitated for a moment and sighed heavily, finally losing his composure. It was obvious how much he was embarrassed of the fact that his dancing skills were... Insufficient, to put it lightly. “A tried tae lear mony times.”

“Listen, I know I won't teach you how to dance perfectly, that's impossible.” Intelligencer offered him his hand, encouraging him to get up from the couch. “But I want you to dance with me on our wedding. And I want you to enjoy it.”

Cyclops finally gave in and stood up from his seat, but for the moment he just looked at his future husband awkwardly, waiting for his next move. As a response, Frenchman leaded him to the open space near the windows and took his both hands.

“Wait! Ye want me tae lead?” Grenadier was clearly shocked when one of his hands landed on Spy's waist.

“You're higher than me, it'll look better that way,” Frenchman explained patiently, adjusting his own palms.

“But...”

“Stop questioning everything.” He smiled at his scared fiancé, trying to comfort him. “Just feel the music. Everything will be all right.”

He knew that there was no way for Demo to learn how to dance in just one afternoon, but he really wanted to teach him. Besides, it was so touching how hard Scot tried to make any progress, how he was concentrated on keeping his feet in check, and how carefully he held Spy's fingers. He was like a giant who had a kitten in his hands and was afraid of hurting that small, vulnerable creature. Even if his career consisted mostly of explosions and fire, he could be also surprisingly gentle, especially when his beloved one was involved. And that was something what was melting agent's heart every time.

“You're doing well.” He leaned closer and rested his cheek on Scot's shoulder.

“Are ye supposed tae dae that?” Cyclops tensed a bit.

“Why not?” He chuckled. “It's our dance. We can do everything we want.”

Intelligencer smiled to himself when soft, warm kiss was planted on his temple and broad fingers held him a bit tighter than before. Maybe guests won't be amazed by their skills, but he couldn't care less – the only things that really mattered was their time together, their slow movements, the music that filled the room and the love they shared. And nothing could change his mind.


	25. Day 26 - Getting Married

He wasn't nervous. Of course every decent human being would be at last a bit uneasy in his situation, but not him – _he_ had nerves of steel and as a professional Spy he was an epitome of self-control, the very embodiment of composure. It was impossible for him to be emotionally compromised by any task. So why his hands were shaking and even standing straight suddenly got so hard?

 _Merde_.

For a while he concentrated on breathing, but it wasn't as efficient as he wanted it to be. He knew that he's one step away from panic and whatever he was trying to do was somehow firing back at him, filling his head with fear and doubts. Of course he wanted them to get married, but... Was it really the best decision they could make? Maybe it won't make them happy? Maybe...

“Stop fidgeting, jeez.” Scout rolled his eyes and sighed. “That's jus' a wedding, everythin' will be _fine._ ”

“Since when you are an expert?” Agent puffed and once again looked in the mirror.

“Oh, please! My mother was married five times, all of my older brothers have wives already and I attended at _all_ those weddings. And don't make me count all the bridals in my family! Ya see, I even know fancy words for that!” Runner grabbed a brush and started to clean his shoe. “I am at some espousal, another complicated word, thank ya very much, two or three times a year. I know _everythin'_ about weddings.”

Intelligencer looked at him suspiciously and took a moment for studying his best man's face. The kid was never wise, usually just clever and faster than his potential enemies, but there was no doubt that he was experienced in some way. He was too young to be a mercenary, but for some reason he decided to become one and he was never falling behind, always first on the battlefield and the last to be leaded back home. And now that brat was strangely calm, like participating in wedding as a best man was nothing special.

“I just... Perhaps I worry too much, but... I'm not sure if I'm doing the right thing,” Frenchman confessed finally. “I have no idea what should I do now.”

“It's simple.” Batter smiled at him and pulled out a comb. “Ya haff' ta pull yourself together, go out of the room and marry the man.”

“... You're not helpful, you know it?” Spy tried to hide his smile, but failed terribly. Slowly he dissolved into laughter as his fears and doubts faded away. “Do you have the rings?”

“Nope. Medic took them.”

“Maybe that's for the best.” Agent sighed and tried to smile. “Shall we?”

* * *

The whole world was spinning with joy and excitement. That was the day he was waiting for – now they are going to marry. It wasn't real wedding of course, but now he didn't care. At first he was of course infuriated, because for the whole life he fought that law was made for all people to be safe and happy, but now it turned out to be created for _chosen_ people only. For now nothing could be done about that, so they decided to organize their own ceremony. If in the eye of legislation they will remain two separate men with different second names, in their hearts and minds they will be husbands. And that was the only thing he really cared about.

Oh, mum would be so furious. With just one vow he was going to abandon all of the traditions and principles she somehow managed to learn him. Two words were just enough to turn his back on his lineage, destiny and heritage. All she ever wanted was to rise him as one of the best Demomen and now he was going to break all of her hopes and plots. But, on the other hand, she'd be also proud of him. DeGroots were always soldiers of fortune and their greatest virtue was an independence and nothing, law and boundaries included, never stopped them from doing exactly what they wanted to do.

He missed her so much.

“Hou dae A leuk?” He turned towards Medic, who was carefully polishing his glasses.

“Pretty.” Surgeon didn't even rose his eyes, concentrating on his delicate task.

“Ye're supposed tae be me groomsman, remember?” Scotsman looked at him reproachfully.

“I still fail to see a reason vhy should I be nice.” Physician finally was satisfied with the state of his lenses and put them back. “Let me see... Yes, you look like a man in a kilt. Vell done.”

“Doc...”

“All right, all right.” Sawbones rolled his eyes and approached him. “Ve just have to fix your collar and everything vill be perfect. Stop moving!”

“Sairy.” Cyclops did his best to stop bouncing on his heels. “A'm juist... Happy, A guess.”

“Zat's good.” Medic smiled finally and patted his shoulder. “I'm glad zat you got zat far. You... Changed a lot since you met him. You never smiled before he joined our team and nov you're so cheerful.”

“A knaw.” Grenadier chuckled, trying not to blush. “A awe him sae much. A luve him.”

“Vell, I suppose zat's ze reason you are getting married today.” Doctor laughed and turned towards the door. “Let's go.”

“Dae ye hiv the rings?” Grenadier stopped him, looking around in search for anything he could forget.

“ _Nein,_ Scout took zem.” Surgeon grabbed his elbow and pulled him out of the room. “Hurry up, everyone's vaiting for us.”


	26. Day 3 - Gaming/Watching a Movie

Sometimes he thought that he's just one step away from understanding his husband's choices, but usually he felt like all of his progress was nothing more than just an illusion. The main reason of his doubts were Friday evenings, when it was Spy's turn to pick a movie. They had been living together for few years now, far away from battlefields, control points, briefcases and all of this chaos, but still he had problems with predicting what the love of his life would like to watch this time.

“ _'Some Like it Hot'?_ Really?” He leaned against the wall, watching complicated procedure of setting everything on. “We'v seen it million times awready.”

It wasn't like he didn't like this move – in fact if was one of his personal favourites – but he knew that intelligencer wasn't too much fond of Marilyn Monroe and usually avoided everything she was starring in. But for some reason this particular comedy was the only exception from this rule, and what was even more interesting, sometimes Frenchman even _insisted_ that they just had to see it.

“And I want to watch it again.” Agent shrugged, smiling innocently.

“A juist want tae knaw why.” Scot shook his head in disbelief and finally sat on the couch, reaching for intelligencer's glass.

“It's funny.” Frenchman settled himself on his chest and literally purred, when heavy arms closed around him. “And now shut up, please.”

Cyclops sighed dramatically and rolled his only eye, but said nothing. Arguing with that stubborn, sneaky bastard was as pointless as trying to teach Scout some manners, so he stopped trying a long of time ago. Well, probably that was the reason why Spy got so spoiled in the first place. But as long as they were able to strike a balance in really important matters, agent's tendency towards manipulation wasn't significant enough to make grenadier really worried.

_I wanna be loved by you, just you._

_Nobody else but you._

_I wanna be loved by you alone._

As usual, intelligencer eventually lost his interest in movie and turned hie face away from the screen. Demoman sighed heavily, and tilted his head to look into his partner's eyes. Even if Frenchman was paying no attention to the brilliant dialogues, he still seemed to be somehow amused.

“Ye arena watching,” said Scot with a sigh.

“I'm OK with that.” Spy smiled, and rested his head on one-eyed man's shoulder.

“But... Why this movie? A bet ye coud pick something ye'd really enjoy.”

“What I enjoy is your smile.” Agent cupped his face, brushing his aquiline nose against highlander's. “And since you like this... Work of cinematography so much, I decided that we can watch it once more.”

Sometimes he forgot, how tender and charming infiltrator could be, but at times like this it was obvious, how deep in love he was. Cyclops couldn't be unmoved by how easily former nameless assassin's heart was melting when they were alone. Blue, ice-cold eyes suddenly were gently filled with warmth and care, arrogant smirk disappeared somewhere, leaving his place to the gently, almost unsure simper, and his sharp as knives facial features seemed to be softened by some kind of internal gleam coming right from his heart.

_I wanna be kissed by you, just you._

_Nobody else but you._

_I wanna be kissed by you alone._

“Ye're something else.” Grenadier covered his lithe hands with his own, smiling happily and breathing in his husband's scent.

“I've heard it before.” Intelligencer leaned closer. “From you, mostly.”

Their lips finally met, greeting each other tenderly with light touches and silent hums of approval. Soft, almost unsure pressure for a long time remained shy and delicate, but after some time slow movements of their mouths got bolder and more passionate, slowly igniting sparks, which soon wandered down already arched spines, every brush of skin and moist trails of fastening breaths were welcomed with louder and louder moans. Usually spacious room suddenly got sultry and small, closing around them like a shell.

_I wanna be loved by you, just you._

_Nobody else but you._

_I wanna be loved by you alone._


	27. Day 30 - Doing Something Hot

Spy smiled at the lovely moan he elicited form Demoman lying beneath him and arched his back, trying to get a little deeper with another deliberate thrust. The pace was slow and almost lazy, just like the afternoon that was tardily soaking up with orange and pink light coming from sunset, but that wasn't anything bad – they were in no hurry after all. After months of closed doors, muffled cries and stolen kisses they were tired of hurrying things up, but thankfully they left that life behind them somewhere in the desert, far away from here. Now they were two married men and they could do everything the way they wanted, and today they felt like taking things slow.

Scot met his movements with careful rolls of his hips, letting him find the right angle. Soft curse left his full lips as he was rewarded with that desired sparkle of lust, but his face remained soft and relaxed. Agent bowed to kiss his spine and feel the warmth radiating from the sweated skin between his shoulder blades, and inhaled the deep scent of their lovemaking. With a soft sigh he withdrew slowly and gave his husband a sign to change position – as much as he loved all of the advantages of their current configuration, he wanted something else, and for that he needed Cyclops on his back.

One of the most astonishing things in grenadier's features was his eye. Whether it was full of vicious satisfaction after some spectacular kill or lit up from spontaneous joy, it's gaze was always genuine. Even if Scot tried to hide something desperately, his iris was invariably betraying him, calling for help every time his lips got closed to prevent any words form being spoken aloud. During his professional career, intelligencer saw a lot of theatrical grimaces that was supposed to fool him, but he never found anything like that in his husband's sight. And that's why he wanted to watch him now – the possibility of looking into that loving eye was one of the best parts of their intimacy. The other reward he craved was Demoman's smile, as it was the very reason he ever got close to the man. Because it started with it, didn't it? His cold, filled with ashes and grief heart was captivated by just a single smile of lonely, broken person and from that moment he couldn't turn back. Of course they both were wrecks and their relationship couldn't be perfect, but he never wanted anything like that for them.

Scot gasped when Spy re-entered him and spread his legs a bit wider, letting his husband slip in. Agent lifted one of his calves and hook it on his own hip, burying himself deeper within familiar warmth. And then he saw it – dark, soft lips curled up and slowly widened with content, lazy smile. It was almost unbearable, how much happiness and love was in that simple expression and for the moment intelligencer was numb. They had to fight a lot of demons and deal with many obstacles, but that moment was worth of all of their efforts, tears and pain. A long of time ago, when they were still in two different teams, he dared to imagine, what their life would like in few years, but the outcome exceeded his expectations. From two crushed souls they turned into humans again and, what was more important, they somehow managed to find not only peace, but also felicity.

After a longer while his need of watching Cyclops was vanquished by another desire. He wanted to get closer, to feel more of the warmth and to touch all of the scars he knew by heart. His hands wandered slowly across the open space of dark abdomen and gentle hills of moving rhythmically chest, followed by soft trail of slow kisses, falling on the hot skin like summer rain. Finally he nuzzled arched neck, scooped closer by two arms. Satisfied, he stayed there inside and atop of his only treasure, falling back into the gentle pace they maintained before.


	28. Day 7 - Cosplaying

“Why is it always this time of year we get assignments like this?” Spy looked with annoyance at countless bowls filled with colourful candies, and rather tacky decorations in the hall. As much as he liked their home and really early retirement, living among normal people had its drawbacks, like for example participating in community events.

“Here we go again.” Demoman was still in their bedroom, trying to figure out how to wear his costume. “It's Halloween, it happens once a year, ye can manage. At last, we daena hiv ghaists, mageecians and talking morts here.”

“But we have those nasty, little creatures instead.” Agent rolled his eyes. “You know, those noisy gremlins who always have to scream and cry. What do you call them?”

“... Children.”

“Oh, yes, that's right. _Children.”_ He repeated, feeling sick just from saying the word. “Have I ever mentioned, how much I hate to dress like an idiot to amuse children of people I don't like? Wait, those have their own name too... Neighbours?”

“Aye, A'm awaur.” Scot finally walked from the room, still straightening some parts of his attire. “But this time ye daena leuk like an eediot.”

“You want me to believe that I am dressed like...” Intelligencer looked down at his long, black robes with purple lining. “Who exactly am I impersonating?”

“Male version of Maleficent from Disney's ' _Sleeping Beauty_ '.”

“Oh. _Fantastique_.” Frenchman sighed dramatically. “And who are you supposed to be?”

“Captain Hook of course.” Cyclops once again fixed his sleeves and smiled widely. “Arrr!”

“... This is ridiculous. Look at us! Two grown-up people, former mercenaries and assassins dressed like utter morons!” Spy whined. “And what for?!”

“Ye daena leuk like a moron.” Grenadier chuckled and came up to him. “Ye leuk... Dashing.”

Initially agent wanted to snap at him, but then he saw genuine admiration in his husband's eye. For some reason Demo found that stupid outfit appealing and was truly enjoying the way it moved around Spy's body, how layers of soft fabric danced with every gesture and ran dawn onto the floor like soft, heavy waterfall. Event if it was silly, suddenly former intelligencer felt touched – it was nice to be adored and worshipped after so many years of living together. Youth passed, their best years too, and now with every day they were slowly approaching the last stage of their lives. Silver snaked up their hair, faces got softer and deep wrinkles appeared at the corners of their eyes, but still they were in love. And that man was _stunned_ every time intelligencer appeared in front of him, like he was seeing some world's wonder.

“Something tells me that you chose this costume not because of children, but your own amusement.” He cupped Scot's face and smiled.

“Is it really that bad?” Cyclops blushed a little, averting his eye.

“Not when you look at me like that.” Frenchman leaned closer in search for the kiss. “So don't you dare to look away.”

Their lips were just about to touch, when knocking on the door ruined the mood and made grenadier not as pliable and eager as agent would like him to be.

“ _Merde_.” He muttered, letting his husband to take care of visitors. “Nasty gremlins.”


	29. Day 21 - Cooking/Baking

“For the love of God, put that pot on the counter and raise your hands!” Spy stormed into the kitchen and pointed at his husband. “Step back from the stove, _monsieur_ and nobody get hurt!”

“Binna sae dramatic.” Demo rolled his eye. “Ye're nae well, sae A hiv tae keuk something. Better gae back tae bed and rest.”

It was true that agent had no strength to take care of his duties, but on the other hand, he also doubted that he'll be able to eat anything from Scot's repertoire – it wasn't like the man was a culinary disaster, just... His meals were rather stodgy, what in intelligencer's current condition could be really dangerous. Of course he could handle even a haggis from time to time, but definitely not when he had serious flu and his only desire was to sleep and drink some chamomile tea.

“It's juist a bree. Whit can possibly gae wrang?” Cyclops rose one eyebrow.

“Everything.” Frenchman hissed, trying not to collapse on the floor. Perhaps he got up from bed a little too fast. “Just... Just let me...”

“Here, here.” Grenadier took his elbow and leaded him towards the chair at the kitchen table. “Ye're the wicelake ane, remember? Try tae be sensible and let me mak some meat for ye. And if ye're sae wirrit aboot the eftercome, stay here and watch me, awricht?”

“I think it's the only way to stop you from making Cullen sink like the last time.” He sighed heavily and leaned against the seatback. “But please, have some mercy.”

Demoman just smiled and kissed his temple, patting his shoulder. Then he got back to work, humming silently his favourite song about drunken Scotsman and two excessively inquisitive maidens. The former master of disguise rolled his eyes and looked at the counter, trying to figure out what kind of soup will be forced into him. The presence of cooking book was really relieving – it meant that Cyclops was really going to prepare something outside his usual menu, so Spy could really relax and trust him on that simple task.

To be honest, agent hated to be sick not only because he felt terrible, but also it was hard for him to accept the fact, that his condition also make him completely useless. Of course it was nice to be in the centre of someone's attention, but usually he preferred to reciprocate every endearment he received, and at the current state even thinking was hard, not to mention showing his appreciation. But Grenadier didn't seem to hold it against him – he just took care of everything and tried his best to comfort his partner in any possible way.

“It's good to have you on my side.” Intelligencer sighed when smell of broth filled the kitchen. “You know I love you, right?”

Demoman turned around and answered him with a broad, warm smile on his lips. Somehow that was more than enough to say that he knew about Frenchman's affection and also felt exactly the same way.


	30. Day 16 - During Their Morning Ritual(s)

Most of Demomen lost their sight to the explosions, chemicals or fire, but for him it was cataract what finally drowned his world in darkness. Day after day he watched as his surroundings were disappearing in mist, and finally he couldn't see anything. Everything was lost – colours, light and his beloved one's face become nothing more than memories he desperately craved to save. For some time there was nothing more than misery in his heart, but Spy never let him give up. With kind words and almost overwhelming amount of patience he once again managed to repair Scot's broken heart and give him hope.

“Good morning.” The soft touch on his cheek snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Whit time is it?” He smiled, feeling tender fingers cupping his jaw and warm breath on his forehead.

“It's time to get up finally.” Agent chuckled and nuzzled his temple.

Walking around the house wasn't that hard – after so many years living here, he memorized layout of the rooms, and as long as _someone_ left furniture in its places, everything was just fine. As usual Cyclops sighed when he stepped on cold tiles in bathroom, but waited patiently for his husband to join him.

“Sit down, stool's right behind you.” Intelligencer kissed his nose and started to fumble in the cabinets. “And stay still.”

Even if he was able to shave by himself, he liked when Frenchman was doing it for him – now, when he had touch instead of loving gazes and warm smiles, it was nice to get that kind of intimate attention. Of course, initially he tried to be independent even in the field of grooming and hygiene, but after some time he got to like their new rituals.

First, there was wet, soft towel, then gentle foam of soap. Grenadier relaxed under delicate ministrations of thin fingers and tried not to notice that they were more and more shaking with every day. They both were growing old and it couldn't be helped, but it was so hard to admit it aloud. For him, his beloved Spy was always young and beautiful, with shining eyes and devious smirk. Maybe he was deceiving himself, but sometimes it was easier that way. Thinking about their death and losing his husband was heartbreaking, so he tried to avoid it.

He liked the soft strokes of shaving brush – there was something calming in it's slow movements and the warm feeling of cream spreading on his cheeks. But after that came the hardest part, when he had to sit perfectly still and let the razor to dance across his skin. He felt heavy breath on his forehead as agent concentrated, and chuckled lightly, trying not to shake.

“Don't move.” Infiltrator hissed with irritation. “Or I'm going to cut you.”

“Since ye're in front of me and nae ahint me back, A have naething tae wirry aboot.” Demoman smiled, trying to imagine the annoyance on his husband's face.

“One could thought, that there will be a time when you finally grow up.” Frenchman snorted and kissed his forehead. “But you're still a child. Old and wrinkled, but a child.”

“'At's why ye luve me.”

“I am afraid you're right.” Soft kiss dropped on the tip of Scot's nose. “But I think I can live with it.”


End file.
